Madison Johns - Agnes Barton Paranormal 02 - Ghostly Hijinks (13 page)

“I’ve never read that book, but how about
The Adventures of Tom Sawyer
?”

“That’s okay, but not as quite riveting as
Moby Dick
.”

“What else do you have in this library to read?”

“Nothing current, unfortunately. There’s not been a new book brought in here since the renovation, and most of the books that were already here had been here since before the fire that didn’t enter the library.”

“Perhaps if you hadn’t scared folks away, they would have added to the library,” I suggested with a curt nod.

“Nobody comes to Silver to read books. They’re more concerned with touring the town and mine shafts.”

“I suppose, but perhaps we should speak to Lois about bringing in new books. I’m sure you’d enjoy the new books they have these days.”

“Or proper ligature, like Jack London. You’d love
Call of the Wild
,” Eleanor said. “Have you ever read a western?”

“Yes, dear lady. Someone left a Louis L’Amour book in the dining room once.”

“He’s one of the best western writers if you like cowboy and Indian books,” Eleanor said. “How about if you quit scaring folks out of here and we find you more currant books to read?”

“Only if you promise to come back, dear. It’s been an eternity since I’ve had any real female companionship.”

Eleanor blushed. “I’d love to, but I must be honest and tell you that I’m already taken. Engaged even,” she showed Douglas her engagement ring.

“I see. Well, if you can tear yourself away from your man, I’d love the company sometime. Please,” Douglas pleaded with her.

“Oh, I suppose, but right now we’re trying to solve a mystery.”

“Anytime, dear lady. As you know, I’m not going anywhere,” Douglas said as he faded away.

Eleanor threw her shoulders back and strode out into the hallway. When the door opened, Lois hit the floor as she obviously had her ear pressed to the door in an effort to eavesdrop.

“Lois,” I said. “What on earth are you doing on the floor?” I asked with a smile.

She clamored to her feet and adjusted her clothing. “You girls need to be more careful. You’re gonna kill someone coming out of a door like that.”

“I don’t expect that will happen since most folks don’t eavesdrop.”

“Yes,” Eleanor said. “Did you have a glass pressed to the door or what?”

“Of course not! I just heard someone scream and came to check out where it was coming from.”

“That was me,” Eleanor volunteered. “I think I saw a mouse in the library.”

“If you stay too long in there, you’ll find more than just a mouse. Haven’t you heard the library is haunted by a madman?”

“What on earth?” I asked with a hand pressed against my bosom. “That’s quite some accusation. Madman, indeed.”

“No, really, it’s true. Douglas Renny was a legendary gunslinger who murdered ten people in Virginia City alone. The U.S. Marshal finally hunted him down right here in the library, gunned him down, and ever since, his ghost lurks in the library. He carries a knife, you know.”

“A knife? What kind of gunslinger carries a knife and not a gun belt?” I asked.

“How do you know what he wears and doesn’t?” Lois asked. “Have you seen his ghost firsthand?”

I shook my head. “No, I just know a gunslinger wouldn’t carry a knife if he was that much of a killer. Are you sure you even heard that story right?”

“I’ve lived in Silver for twenty years now, and you’re the only person that has dared question me. Who were you girls talking to in the library?” she pressed.

“Nobody,” we chimed. “Except for each other,” I added.

“There’s no need to lie now. I heard at least two other voices.”

“I don’t think so, but if you’re concerned, perhaps you should go into the library to check it out for yourself,” I said, knowing full well that she’d never go in there.

“Are you plain loco? I’m not going in there. Didn’t you hear me? The library is haunted.”

“It is, now?” Francine came waltzing up with Redd, who looked like he’d rather be elsewhere since he wouldn’t make eye contact with us.

“There weren’t any ghosts when we were in there,” I said. “And Lois accused us of lying.”

“Lois, is this true?” Francine said with a disapproving look on her face. “How many times have I told you to not anger the guests?”

“Fine, but if nobody but those two were in there, how come I heard other voices?”

“Perhaps because we were reading one of William Shakespeare’s plays.”

“Sure were,” Eleanor added. “I was Juliet and Agnes was Romeo,” she snickered.

I cocked a brow at that, but continued to play along. “She always makes me be the man. It’s tiring, really,” I said with a wink.

“I don’t care about any of this, really,” Francine said. “Lois, get back to work. You’ve kept guests waiting at the desk.”

Lois shot us an angry look, but we never let on that there was a bit of truth in what she had said. “Thanks for the western apparel, Francine. It was very kind of you.”

“You’re quite welcome, and I wanted to make up for how I treated you at my house yesterday. You were right about the missing family. I really should have reported it to the sheriff straight off. I guess I just didn’t want word to get around that the Goldberg had another family disappear in the middle of the night. The last ones, the Thompsons from what I can recall, disappeared under the exact same circumstances. Unfortunately, that family was found dead in a canyon nearby with mining equipment. I really wish folks would not come to Silver thinking that Leister’s gold is real. There’s simply no proof that it is. It’s a legend that has been told to tourists as a form of entertainment. I don’t even know if there ever was a Peyton Leister ever living in Silver during the gold rush days.”

“That’s sure a bold statement. There must be some truth to it, or why would folks still come to Silver looking for gold?”

“For the Gold Rush Festival, of course. It’s a big draw, but once most of them realize just how rough the terrain is around here, they give up on that notion. Anyway, that’s not what I came here for. I wanted to tell you that I told the sheriff what I knew about the missing family. Thanks for allowing me to do that before you jumped into anything prematurely.”

I wanted to say so many things, like it just might be too late for that family now, or how bad it made her look for not reporting it sooner, and only after I started asking questions about them.

“What’s the family’s name again?” I asked.

“I don’t think it’s a good idea to tell you. The sheriff wouldn’t like me to tell anyone since he’s now actively investigating.”

“That’s fine, then. I’ll ask him myself,” I said as I turned to leave in search of the men.

“I assure you, there’s really no need for that.”

I whirled and said, “And I assure you that I’ll do everything in my power to bring that family safely home, and nothing you can say will stop Eleanor and me.”

“What qualifies you to poke around?”

“Eleanor and I have investigated many crimes back home, with success, I might add. Unless you have a reason to try and stop us, we’ll be on our way now to find our menfolk so we can enjoy our last day before the Gold Rush Festival begins.”

Francine’s mouth gaped open, but she clamped it shut and I was internally grateful, since I didn’t want to outright accuse her of wrongdoing right now—not until I had solid evidence that would point to her, that is.

Chapter Ten

Eleanor and I searched upstairs for Andrew and Mr. Wilson, but when they weren’t up there, we proceeded back down in the elevator, ran back to the dining room, and then checked the saloon until the saloon girl, Patty, told us they were outside waiting for the parade to start.

Eleanor and I hustled outside beneath the overhang, finally spotting Andrew and Mr. Wilson. Andrew about knocked me out with his white western shirt and matching pants with metal rivets that were fastened to his shirt pocket and all along the sides of the legs of his trousers. He also had a gun belt around his waist with a pistol. “Let me guess. You must be the good guy,” I said as I walked up.

“He sure is, and I’m the bad guy,” Mr. Wilson said with a cracking voice. He wore all black with a long-sleeved shirt and pants, and as he walked toward us, spurs struck the clapboard porch with a jangle of metal. He also had a gun belt around his waist with a pearl-handled revolver. I sure bought into the idea that both of them were every inch western men.

Mr. Wilson let out a whistle, or his version of one with way too much wind and not enough whistle, but I got the idea.

I fanned my face in feigned embarrassment. “Was that for little ole us?” I asked.

Eleanor played along and took ahold of my arm. “Agnes, don’t talk to the likes of him. He’s an outlaw.”

“Yes, but he’s sort of cute, don’t you think,” I said, nudging Eleanor in the ribs. She then burst into laughter.

“I can’t believe it, Mr. Wilson. You look like a real outlaw from one of those Old Western movies,” Eleanor gushed.

“He’d better tow the line with you ladies, or I’ll put this six shooter to good use,” Andrew said as he tapped the silver sheriff’s badge he wore. “You sure look quite fetching today, Agnes. I don’t think I’ve ever seen you in a skirt before—either of you, actually.”

“Thanks. I think. So what’s going on out here?”

“There’s supposed to be a parade,” Mrs. Barry said as she held her beer glass tightly in her right hand.

“We just love the Gold Rush Festival,” Mrs. Peacock said, fluttering her eyelashes at Mr. Wilson who sidled up next to Eleanor when her eyes narrowed slightly.

“I thought that didn’t start until tomorrow,” I said.

“The parade is always the day before,” Mrs. Peacock said.

I heard what sounded like a gun going off as two men raced their horses up the street, scarves tied around their faces, concealing their identities from everyone. One man was holding a woman who had been thrown over one of their horses. I bit a fist even though I figured it was just part of the show, but the woman kicked and screamed so much that it seemed very real. Sheriff Wilford appeared in the middle of the street, pointing his rifle at the outlaws, who shouted, “Move out of the way, Sheriff, or this gal’s life won’t be worth a plug nickel.”

“You let Miss Bertha Anne go, or else.”

“Ain’t gonna do that. We’re ransoming her to her father. Peyton will be forced to show us where he hid the gold bars for sure then.”

Peyton? As in Peyton Leister? This didn’t sound much like a legend if they’re using it as part of their reenactment.

“Please, take her out of town and never bring her back,” Redd whispered to me with a chuckle. “That way I’ll have some peace from her advances.”

I pursed my lips. What a stubborn man this Redd was. “I don’t think you mean that. She seems like a real nice lady.”

“If she were a lady, I might give her half a chance, but ladies don’t chase after men.”

“Perhaps not in your generation they didn’t, but times they have changed and Berta Anne has no other prospects.”

Redd’s brow furrowed, and instead of sticking around, he went back inside.

“What’s his deal?” Eleanor asked. “Most men would be happy to have a lovely lady like that pursuing him.”

“Not when it develops into stalking,” Andrew said. “Word is that she calls Redd like twenty times a day.”

That certainly wasn’t good. “Perhaps I should have a chat with the girl.”

Two more horses came up in full steam with men in white, surrounding the bad guys, who let Bertha Anne go. She ran into the sheriff’s arms as the men were apprehended and taken into the jailhouse across the street. Applause were heard at the reenactment and it took a few minutes for the sheriff to pry Bertha Anne’s fingers from his shirt.

“Yup, she’s definitely a stalker,” Eleanor said.

A band played a lively tune and passed us by, fully intent on playing their music while we all tapped our feet in time. Next was a wagon with clowns on it, tossing candy to children who lined the other side of the street.

Many more wagons passed by, some of which had gold rush era looking men who hooted and hollered that they just found the mother lode, holding huge rocks in their hands that were painted gold. Other wagons represented the many businesses in Silver, from the Tumbleweed Saloon that had a wooden keg of beer on their wagon, to one with provisions that a prospector might need from the Willington General Store, with Glenda O’Shay sitting on it. Next was the wagon carrying a banker counting money and weighing gold nuggets on a scale with magnifying glasses on his face.

All in all, it gave us a representation of what Silver might have been like back in the gold rush days. When the small parade was over, we all packed into the saloon of the hotel. In attendance was Badass Bart, who was telling everyone about how the merchants made more money than the prospectors did by overpricing their wares since most came to town with only the clothes on their backs.

“That’s just awful. No wonder the Willington General Store is still in business,” I said. “Can’t blame them, I suppose, since there wasn’t anyone stopping them. Folks have a right to make a living.”

“True, but not on the backs of prospectors or miners,” Eleanor said.

Bart massaged his beard. “Not to worry, dear lady. This was only a glimpse into Silver’s past. I sure wish the gold hadn’t run dry. Silver was such a booming town at one time.”

“Really?” I asked. “Like, how many people actually lived here?”

“About twenty thousand. You outta take a look at the cemetery on the other side of town and check it out. I think you might be surprised.”

I nodded, inhaling the scent of the beer that was handed to me. “Oh, Andrew. You should know that I can’t stand this stuff.”

“More for me,” Mrs. Barry said. “Be a dear and slide your glass this away.”

I smiled, doing as she asked. When I straightened my back, I caught sight of Sheriff Bradley over at the jailhouse and I nudged Eleanor. “Let’s head on over to the jailhouse. We have some investigating to do.”

We strolled across the street, sidestepping the horse poop that a man with a broom and trashcan was trying to clean up.